


System

by network



Series: Anakin & Ahsoka [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Isn't A Sith, Gen, baby luke & leia, post purges, rebel anakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7046851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/network/pseuds/network
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single sob escapes his pursed lips, but as it resonates through the air he clenches his fists and bites his tongue. He is determined not to show weakness, but the dark side does not accept his verdict, pushing harder and with increasing violence into his mind. He can't stop the final scream that tears from his lips; does not react as a Togruta girl sits down beside him, cautious, and holds him close. It's silent; no more muffled tears and hitched breaths, no howling winds or angry storms.<br/>But they know; the broken shell, Anakin, and the girl forced to grow up too fast, Ahsoka, that this is just the eye of the storm, and there's no way out now, no chance of escaping intact.</p><p>aka; Anakin never becomes a Sith and instead joins the rebellion; but maybe someone should have told Obi-wan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my crazy ideas - enjoy!
> 
> Title from I fooled you by Awaken The Giants

Dawn was nearly breaking over the still horizons of Tatooine - the silent golden skies only interrupted briefly by domed abodes and dusty dunes - but one individual lay awake. A mind too troubled for any decent rest, Anakin Skywalker, System, sat fatigued on a rounded roof, messy hair fluttering in the slight breeze that disturbs the thick air. Wind blows light sand over the silent figure, whose features react in obvious disgust but make no action to prevent the gritty gust from settling it's sediment over his darkly clad form. A tanned, roughened hand slips through the dark fabric of his robes (despite the abnormally high temperatures, and normalcy of wearing light, airy clothes on the desert planet) to hold himself tighter, physically and emotionally detaching himself from the harsh reality that surrounds him, suffocating. Darkness slams against the barricades in his mind, as tendrils of black contrast from his pale environment. A single sob escapes his pursed lips, but as it resonates through the air he clenches his fists and bites his tongue. He is determined not to show weakness, but the dark side does not accept his verdict, pushing harder and with increasing violence into his mind. He can't stop the final scream that tears from his lips; does not react as a Togruta girl sits down beside him, cautious, and holds him close. It's silent; no more muffled tears and hitched breaths, no howling winds or angry storms.  
But they know; the broken shell, Anakin, and the girl forced to grow up too fast, Ahsoka, that this is just the eye of the storm, and there's no way out now, no chance of escaping intact.


	2. Burn the City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before the intro.

System always seemed to stick out like a sore thumb in any area that could be considered even slightly respectable, which is why, he muttered under his breath, he fits in so well here. Neon lights, seedy bars, the Coruscanti underworld had it all. He remembered what "Palpatine" had told him when he was but a padawan; about how his predecessor had ignored the underworld and it's dealings, and how he wanted to bring order to the chaos below. Anakin had been a fool; a naive child. He'd lapped up every corrupted word the Sith had told him, considered him a friend, Anger surges inside, but he held it down. "The Sith use their passionate emotions" he told himself. "No matter what they believe, you are not a Sith." System's faded blue eyes dart from place to place, afraid of showing too much interest - despite being hidden behind a literal mask as his darkened cloak flickers around his heels in an almost nervous fashion. His hands, which clasp together hungrily, are wrapped up to his knuckles with black binding, fingers calloused and war-torn. Dark hair, almost shoulder length from neglect, falls in messy twists to frame his masked face - dark durasteel goggles with glinting white lenses & a heavy grey respirator that modifies his voice to the point of ill-recognisability, warping his identity so that nobody who heard of - or even once knew - the Hero With No Fear would make a connection, so nobody would realise their once-hero had become something so pitiable as a mere "bounty hunter".  
But then again, he wasn't even that, just like he was never a Jedi. Bounty hunters cared for nobody. Bounty hunters had only a few purposes in their usually inconsequential lifetimes - collect bounties, spend credits, collect bounties. System supposed that he didn't exactly count as one of the fools - he had people left to care for he supposed. Sure, most of them had given up on him, lapped up the conspiracy of his betrayal once the first supposed piece of evidence was uncovered (that would be if there was any - the order seemed pretty happy to just run on the hunch that this new Sith could be him), but that never meant he didn't care for them anymore. No, quite the polar opposite actually. He cared more deeply for his old master and former padawan now - for now he supposed that he must prove their conclusions incorrect - that the day he'd been fantasising about for the eight months since the purges, the day when he'd stand before them, with their shocked expressions, and proclaim that he wasn't actually a traitor.  
His fantasies of fairness were shattered when he snapped out of his daydream outside a tall durasteel building, the best he could find considering his location. He'd had a relatively large balance of credits on hand after the events of the purges, and could afford a decent place for him & his company to retire to. Knocking the door open with a thump of his arm, not able to use the hands currently occupied with large bags, he lopsidedly carries himself up seemingly endless floors up to the forty-second, where he strides to room 42C, dropping the bags for a brief moment to punch in the passcode 96425701, to which the door stammers open. Picking up his luggage he stepped into the rooms, dimly lit yellow by a single bulb.  
"You can come out now!" He called into the seemingly empty room, and after a few moments a little face pops out from under a dilapidated sofa. The child is very young, only five or so, a Togruta girl (painfully similar in appearance to _her_ , but that's off topic), who upon noticing Anakin grinned slightly.  
"Master Skywalker!" She exclaimed in Basic, wriggling out from under the old upholstery to meet the older Jedi. "Did you get us some more food?"  
The taller man smiled slightly. "I did." At this, multiple other young children climb out of seemingly impossible places; a broken dresser, dusty cabinets, under a miscoloured & stained beanbag, they seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. There's a young, dark skinned human boy, a Twi'lek girl, a Mirilan, male, the oldest of the group at twelve, a female Wookie (who was pretending to be a rug, rather successfully) and a male Twi'lek who trails behind the group slightly, shyly holding out two bundles of cloth towards Anakin. He smiled slightly, lifting the two parcels carefully as the child meandered off towards the other younglings.  
He stood carefully from his crouch, cradling the two bundles as he walks silently towards the designated nursery - a small store cupboard as far away from the main living area as possible, where two musty old boxes sit side by side. One's cardboard was coated in blotchly blue ink, with "Luke" written in crude child's handwriting, while another is scribbled over in pink crayons of different shades, slightly spelling out "Leia". The moth eaten blankets in the "cribs" are meant to look pink and blue respectively, but time and use has rendered them a pale yellow, while above the beds is a mix of lollipop sticks, string and scraps of card meant to lull his children to sleep. He had to smile however, as he laid his offspring in their sleeping places and tucked them in. All the effort that the younglings {that he'd rescued from the Temple on the day of the purges} had put into his children was astronomical; without them Anakin had no idea how he would've coped. His mind wandered to fantasies of another life; where he'd let go of his non-achievable dream of being the best Jedi ever, where he'd left the order. Where he had raised his children with his wife in a comfortable and safe environment, where they wouldn't have to hide every time he came home just in case it wasn't him. But as he kisses his children on the forehead and walks away, he lets that dream go.


	3. Will you remember me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> System gets a potential job that turns everything on it's head.  
> \--  
> Title from Remember Me by The Birthday Massacre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look I have actually updated.

It is early morning; the only indication of this being the time on the chronometer - they're so far down the underworld that it's hard to tell - when System's comm rings. It doesn't take him long to answer, already awake, unable to sleep - those "dreams" await him. He'd kept his mask on, just in case a call came through or he needed to leave in a rush, as you could never be too safe in these areas - letting your guard down could cost you your life. A blue bust appears, the dark cloak obscuring any distinguishable features; a norm for System's clients.

"You are the bounty hunter they call System, correct?" The voice has an air of authority but it isn't difficult for System to feel their apprehension. This interests System immediately - he isn't used to people being afraid of him - perhaps if they knew his real identity - but not as a faceless bounty hunter.

"Of course - what do you need?" He briefly replies - nobody calls him without needing something, whether it be an item stolen or a person assassinated. His line of work pushes him dangerously close to the dark side, especially for someone so precariously trying to balance the two sides within, but it's not like he has a choice. He needs the credits, and so do his charges, perhaps even more than him. With the money he earns he can move them closer and closer to the surface - not too close mind you; low enough to not be recognized or reported, but high enough to have some feeling of stability and security.

"This connection is not secure enough." Is their simple reply, and it isn't too shocking or inconvenient for him - many of his clients, especially high profile ones, will meet him in person to discuss details without any prying ears intercepting incriminating messages. The client tells him the time and place before stopping the connection.

Running over the details in his mind, System remembers a bar, not far from his apartment, that the person apparently wants to meet at. It's slightly disturbing how easily he runs over the path to it in his head; in the first month or two after the purges he'd visited it a lot, drinking away the memories of their deaths, all the deaths, the emptiness of the force from the deaths but also the screams cut too short and left too long ringing out in the force. Those weeks were the hardest, when he blamed himself for every blaster bolt and youngling not saved by another like him, when he blamed himself for not paying more heed to what happened to Fives, when he blamed himself for not doing what was impossible; what he knew was impossible but tried to do anyway.

When he'd accepted that he couldn't save them all was when he found what he could do; he had a handful of younglings following him; a new generation of Jedi to fix what the old had failed to. He had his wife; who'd stayed with him despite the dangers, despite the fact that she could've stayed on the surface, kept herself safe and pretended to follow the new Empire. And he had his children; two beautiful babies, full of joy and bent on bringing it; two beacons of light in the Force, shining and lighting up the darkest times. Tears well up in his eyes and he blinks them away. "Back to the mission." He chides himself mentally. "Think later, fight now."

He leaves his room, walking silently through the dated hallway until he reaches the living room; he then takes a book on the different saber forms and opens it to page 23, leaving it face down on the kitchen counter. Why?; it's a simple way of telling the younglings that he's going out, so they don't have to worry about his whereabouts when they start to awaken.

Leaving the apartment, he follows his mental map down to the bar, easily dodging the vendors as they aggressively market their goods, pulling himself into himself as he reaches the entrance. He is almost physically hit when he enters the room, senses briefly overloaded before adjusting to the too loud music, too many perfumes, too many people, too many lights, too much anything. He avoids the crowded areas, before his eyes settle on a black-cloaked person - System is pretty sure they're human, if not extremely humanoid. He sees no sign of any lekku or montrals - sprawled across a booth sofa in an almost cocky fashion. Another figure sits beside him, once again wrapped and hooded in a dark material, legs pulled up to their chest and tanned chin resting on his knees.

The larger figure looks up as soon as System lays eyes on them, and that's a good enough indication to him that this is his client. He heads over, sliding in across the table and leaning back into the other booth sofa. The older person begins to speak as the younger looks up, deep blue eyes piercing into his.

"I'm Kannan Jarrus, and this" he nods towards the younger figure "is Ezra Bridger. We need you help, Master Skywalker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I used way too many semi-colons in that.


End file.
